Superdelegates
by e-kaye
Summary: Donna rethinks some things when her sister's children come to visit.


Author: Kaye  
E-mail address:   
Title: Superdelegates  
Characters: Josh, Donna  
Category: Romance  
Pairing: Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Donna rethinks some things when her sister's children come to visit.

---

I didn't know what to say.

I mean, my sister calls me, totally out of the blue, practically pleading with me to keep her kids. _Literally_ pleading. Apparently, she and Matt are going skiing for their tenth anniversary, but Mom and Dad are too far away, Matt's parents canceled, the neighbors all said no, and being Anna Moss Brown, she immediately thought of her sister, who, though she lives forty-five minutes away, has never been invited to their mansion in Virginia. That is, of course, until she's called on for baby-sitting duty.

"Anna, I barely _know_ your kids."

"Please, Donna. It's our _anniversary_."

So? You've spent a decade sleeping in the same bed as that arrogant lout, Matt Brown. "I'm sorry – it's a really bad time. The convention..."

"Will go on without you."

"Yeah, but Josh won't."

"You know, you guys are cute, but I seriously need..."

"A baby-sitter. I get it. And I need to be at the convention. Sorry."

Anna scoffs. One of those back-of-your-throat, gargle-your-bile scoffs. She hasn't done that to me since I was in the tenth grade. "Can't you _for once_ care about your family?"

I hold up my left hand for emphasis, even though I'm on the phone. "Josh _is _my family. Remember? We're getting married. Oh, right, because I'm planning an event of national, if not global, concern, and I've also got this _convention_ going on."

"Cute, Donna, that's cute. Your wedding isn't for another six months."

Actually, it's 176 days, but who's counting? "Anna, I..."

"Look," she cuts me off, obviously sensing that I'm reaching the end of my rope, "Please – it's six days. You can work from here, entertain Maddie and Max. Josh can come over – it'll be good practice for when you two have kids. _Please_?"

I roll my eyes. Because if Josh and I ever did have kids, they'd be nothing like my sister's brats. And because I'm caving.

Madison and Max Brown, ages four and two, respectively, have done very little to impress me in the few afternoons I've spent in their presence. Two Christmases in Wisconsin and the time I sat with Madison in the hospital when Max was born.

They're spoiled, they're slow learners, and they're whiny.

But one thing I learned after watching my fiancé swing Max around by his feet and play round after round of hide-and-seek with Madison is this: kids love Josh.

Who would have thought that my arrogant politico husband-minus-176 days could be so good with kids?

The truth is, I know he'd be okay if I spent the week at Anna's Monticello. The thing is – I want to be at the convention. I'm not even married yet – I'm not ready to give up my career for _children_.

Anna and I both know it's deal time.

"Fine," I say.

Anna laughs and hollers "Yes!" She audibly covers the phone with her hand and tells her husband that I caved.

"Anna, I've got some contingencies," I tell her.

"Anything," she laughs.

"The kids have to come here," I tell her, bracing myself for the backlash.

"Absolutely not. Their stuff is here, their life is here..."

"Okay, well, maybe you should try Matt's brother. I know how cool Madison thinks _he _is – what with the piercings and the ferret and the..."

"Okay. Deal. Whatever."

"You bring them here, I watch them for six days, you pick them up." I'm being so stupid. Why am I agreeing to this?

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she giggles. She actually giggles.

"You're welcome," I tell her, reaching for my calendar so I can do the unthinkable – schedule my life around toddlers.

"I'll bring them by tomorrow night?"

"That's fine," I say, flipping to tomorrow's schedule. "Josh has a meeting at five, so I can leave any time after six."

"I just take K Street down, right?"

"Well, no, not since I moved three months ago."

"Right, right, you're living in sin with your boyfriend."

"I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you that he is 176 days away from being legally bound to me for eternity – and that I'm doing you an enormous favor."

"Right, thanks again. So ... directions?"

"I'll email them to you."

"Got it. Thanks."

"How much do you love me?"

"A whole, whole lot."

"Bye, Anna."

"Bye, Donna."

I hang up the phone and wait a few seconds before speed-dialing Josh. I can sense the smile on his face when he picks up – I know he knows it's me because I programmed the bridal march to trill when I call his cell phone.

"Well, this is either Donna or some other future Mrs. Lyman."

"Ha. Ha. Where are you?"

"Ten minutes from the apartment. What's up?"

"Honey," I say, using a saccharine tone and a rarely-employed term of endearment, "I have to tell you something."

---

Anna arrives at 7:02 that Saturday night. Josh and I have been home for thirty minutes, all of which he's spent scouring our cabinets for macaroni and cheese. Since I've known him, Joshua has never once eaten macaroni and cheese, but he has convinced himself that this is what children eat – macaroni and only macaroni.

She arrives with a diaper bag, a stroller, a pop-up crib, a rather large bag of toys, three ratty blankets, two car seats, a complete set of kiddie silverware and place settings, and two small children, each clutching a stuffed animal.

I can't believe I did this.

"Hey, Donna," my sister says.

"Hi, Anna."

She looks around the apartment appraisingly. This is a grown-up's apartment – and although it suits _us_ perfectly, it really isn't the perfect place for children. Rickety shelving units, unplugged electrical sockets, small objects...

Anna leans down and whispers something into Madison's ear. The little girl tiptoes over to me and says bashfully, "Hello, Aunt Donna," to the floor. Max remains attached to his mother's side, and she struggles to peel him from her leg and pass him off to Josh. Josh smiles at Max and greets my sister.

"This is a nice neighborhood," Anna says uneasily.

"We like it," Josh says, tickling my nephew.

"Let me show you where to stash all this stuff," I tell her.

Anna immediately switches into Mommy Mode. "I brought the Pack-and-Play for Max to sleep in. I'll go ahead and unfold it tonight. Maddie can sleep in a bed, but make sure she sleeps on her back or she'll roll out. If you go out, make sure they go properly in their car seats – if you want me to get the car seats all strapped in, I can do that." Upon reaching the guest room, she looks down at Madison. "How do you like this room, baby girl?" she asks. Madison just clings to Anna, and Anna lifts the little girl to her hip. My sister then goes to work turning our guest room into a nursery. The knickknacks and electrical objects disappear into the bottom drawer and a nightlight appears in their place, along with a CD player, a stack of cardboard books, and enough toy trains to battle the traffic in and out of Union Station.

Good God. This doesn't even look like my apartment anymore.

Her task complete, she continues to utter a string of commands – about everything from heating up Max's food to Madison's bedtime reading regiment. She carries Madison back out into the living room, where Josh is sitting in the big green leather chair playing patty-cake with Max.

Maybe this won't be such a bad week after all.

She motions for me to collect Madison so she can sneak out of the apartment.

"Hey, Madison, do you want to go read a book?" I ask.

"Okay, Aunt Donna," the child tells me after some serious cajoling from her mother.

I take Madison to the couch, where she settles beside me. I reach for a book from the bag on the opposite cushion. Before turning the third page, I glance up to my sister and smile. She mouths "thank you" and then eases out the door.

Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Brown. It's time for the Moss-Lyman rules to take effect.

---

Josh and I take Sunday off. We walk the Mall, pushing Madison and Max in the double-stroller. The sun in shining, Josh is wearing sunglasses, I am wearing no makeup.

Like there was time this morning while I struggled to get Madison to wear matching socks and Max to eat warm pears. Josh succeeded in convincing my nephew to eat, which only made me further doubt my skills as a disciplinarian and aunt.

"Uncle Josh?" Madison asks, looking up at him from behind her pink sunglasses.

"Yes, Miss Madison?"

"Are you married?"

I wonder where that came from and smile at Josh.

"Not yet. But I will be married in 174 days."

I giggle. He counted.

We reach the Lincoln Memorial and Josh points the giant statue out to Madison and Max.

"Wow," the little girl exclaims. "That's the biggest man I've ever seen in my whole entire life!"

"Do you know who that is?" I ask.

She shakes her head, still in awe. "No."

I shake my head. If Josh and I had children, they'd know who President Lincoln was.

"That's Abraham Lincoln," my beloved begins. I can sense him slipping into Professor Mode. "He was the sixteenth president of the United States. Lincoln was the rarely-heard-of decent Republican. He issued the Emancipation Proclamation and was the leader of the Union during the Civil War. He was assassinated at Ford's Theater by John Wilkes Booth only a few days after the war ended. He is now on the five-dollar bill and the penny."

Josh half-expects Madison to debate Lincoln's policies on popular sovereignty. _I_ know that Madison has no _clue_ what half of those words mean.

Lyman babies would know.

Josh takes Madison to see Lincoln up close, while I stay with Max and my thoughts. I watch Josh with her, and I can't help but wonder...

We've slipped into a comfortable life. We get up, have breakfast, drive to work together, spend the way as boss and assistant, have lunch and, later, dinner together, leave work late at night, and then head back home where we watch The Daily Show and fall asleep.

I love Joshua Lyman desperately. I love the life I live with him. And what's amazing is that I know he loves me just as much.

We discussed kids a month or so ago – right after we got engaged – and decided that we like our life the way it is. We like working long hours – so long as we're working together – and weekends.

Two upper-level White House staffers don't have time for babies. I couldn't be the soccer mom, I couldn't drive car pool, I couldn't be the room mother, I couldn't be ready to bake cupcakes at a moment's notice.

And I love my job, and I love Joshua, and we're okay just being Josh and Donna for the rest of our lives.

I'm sure of it.

Only when I see Josh jump down the steps of the Memorial with Madison on his back ... I'm not so sure anymore.

---

Josh makes macaroni and cheese – out of a box – while I give the kids a bath. They were brats today – their moods soured quickly after leaving Old Abraham and they both pitched individual hissy fits, leaving me ready to tell everyone in our general vicinity that these were _not_ my children.

They tried to escape while we picnicked at the park.

They tried to shove rocks up their noses.

They tried to swim in a pond that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

They're getting thorough baths tonight, I tell you.

Madison and Max are surprisingly calm as I lather, rinse, and repeat. I wonder how two such devilish children can become so angelic and docile. Max sings "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" with me while Madison discusses the day with Malibu Barbie.

Lyman children would never be allowed to play with Barbies.

I soap up their dark brown hair, making sure to scrub behind their ears. Max fights me a little when I tell him to lean back so I can rinse his hair, but I manage to win that battle.

After ensuring that the Washington petrochemicals are off my niece and nephew, I wrap them each in a fluffy blue towel and herd them to their bedroom where I manage to get them into pajamas. Max's have fire trucks on them; Madison's are pink.

I literally hear the pitter-patter of their little feet as they scurry barefoot to the kitchen. I tidy up the bedroom, tossing their clothes into a hamper and clearing a path out through the toys.

I follow the kids to the kitchen, where I find Josh multitasking, reading Max a story while brushing Madison's hair. I catch his eye from a moment, knowing that I must look like a sight for sore eyes. I didn't take a bath – but I certainly got wet.

Splashes from Max and Madison have accumulated all over the front of my shirt. They were only increased when my two-year-old nephew leapt into my arms after his bath.

Although there is a large spot of my hair matted down by bubble bath and several mysterious stains on my soaking wet button-down, the look Josh gives me makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Upon finishing with Madison's hair, he sets her on the floor and puts Max in the high chair. He adds a cheese powder (gross!) to the macaroni and then sidles up beside me at the counter.

"I love you," he whispers, and it occurs to me that I haven't heard him say it all day. There just hasn't been _time_.

"I love you, too."

"Why can't you just, I don't know, marry me tomorrow?"

I can feel myself turning bright red as I look first at my feet and then at him. "Because..."

"Because _why_?" he whines.

"Because," I sigh, "We're taking care of two small children, the convention starts tomorrow, and we've already hired the wedding coordinator."

"Can we at least _talk_ about moving up the date? 174 days is a _long_ way away." He pouts.

I open my mouth to reply but am interrupted by Madison running in and demanding to know when we are eating dinner. Josh fields this one by lifting her up into her booster seat and serving the macaroni onto Madison and Max's plastic plates.

Placing the food in front of her, he says, "Your cuisine, mademoiselle."

Madison giggles. So do I.

The kids dig in, and I am loathe to fix myself a bowl of character-shaped from-a-box pasta when Josh approaches me and whispers "Thai delivery" in my ear.

I knew there was a reason why I agreed to marry this man.

---

After cleaning up the kitchen, I find Josh helping the children brush their teeth, gently instructing Max to "go like this" ("aaah"), "now go like this" ("ahhh"), "now like this" ("eee").

Max spits and Josh throws the child over his shoulder and then drops him into his bed. Madison brushes her own teeth and climbs daintily into her bed.

"Read us a 'tory, Uncle Josh!" Max pleads, standing up in the playpen.

"Uncle Josh" has already tired of the children's extensive reading collection and offers them a made-from-scratch, just-for-Maddie-and-Max story. They agree, and I sink into Madison's bed so I can listen, too.

This should be interesting.

I watch my fiancé as he tells the children about Queen Donnatella and the many Republican princes who could not win her heart. And how one day, Queen Donnatella fell in love with a Democratic prince who worked with her.

(I interject that her prince was a bit of a frog, but that she loved him in spite of his flaws.)

By the time Josh gets to the part where kindly Prince Joshua finally gets up the courage to tell Queen Donnatella that he loves her, the children are fast asleep.

I ease off the bed and take Josh's hand. "I didn't get to the part where they live happily ever after," he whispers.

I just smiled and stare out into the darkness of the hallway. I would be much more decisive if he were bad at this.

Or if I could just stop thinking about how smart and beautiful our babies would be.

---

We're close to sleep when he rolls over and looks into my eyes. "If you really want the big, fancy, rice-throwing, bouquet-tossing, cake-in-the-face wedding, then, Donna, by all means, I will wait ten-thousand, one-hundred, and seventy-four days to marry you. But..."

"But what?"

"But I _only_ want to be your husband. That's all. I want to be married to you, I want to be old with you, I want to have babies with you..."

I roll away. I thought our minds were made up on this subject.

"Donna?" he asks, his voice expressing his obvious worry.

"Children?" I manage, beating back tears by sheer force of will.

"I know we discussed..."

"Joshua, I..."

"I'm sorry, Donna, but..."

"I just feel like..."

"And you and..."

"Okay, stop," I say. "Look, all I know is that I saw you holding Madison tonight and I just ... fell for a part of you I'd never seen before. But ... as much as my heart is telling me to shut up and go off the Pill, my brain is telling me that society would expect me to give up my sixteen-hour workdays, my workweekends, my frequent traveling ... and I love my job more than I love thinking about giving it up for children."

He is silent for a long moment, so I turn back over and fill the silence.

"Which reminds me," I tell him, "I'm going to keep my cell phone on all day so you can call me when you need something. I should be home all day, unless I take the kids to the park or something."

"What?" he asks softly.

"Well, ironically enough, someone has to take care of Madison and Max tomorrow, and it sure as hell can't be _you_."

"So ... you're not coming to the convention?"

"Unless you've got somebody lines up to baby-sit besides trusty Donna Moss."

"Well, I hadn't thought about it, but I didn't think that you'd skip out on the convention."

"Skip out on?!" I say harshly, sitting up bed and switching on the bedside lamp.

"God, Donna, you didn't _have_ to agree to take care of the kids this week."

"Oh, you _know_ you're sleeping on the couch tonight," I yell, pointing toward the living room.

"Donna, my love, you've got no reason to be mad at _me_. I'm not your sister – I didn't force those two on you, and even if you want to live in this little metaphor of domesticity, I hope you remember that, despite our numerous attempts to the contrary, I didn't get you pregnant! This is not a marriage, those are not our children, and any idea you can conceive about me being some suburban jackass deserting his wife are figments of your rather prolific imagination!"

I take a moment to take in his harsh words. "You're damn right this isn't a marriage! And don't _count_ on it being one for _anything_ less than 173 days!" I scream back. I jump out of bed and scurry into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.

As soon as the door shuts, I hear a toddler's scream.

I seriously forgot they were here.

I throw open the door to see Josh jumping out of bed and running toward the scream.

He goes to Madison and I reach for Max. I clutch the little boy to my heart, bouncing and hushing him, my guilt overflowing into a warm hug.

I look at Josh and recognize a similar expression on his face as Madison buries her head in Josh's shoulder.

Josh looks back at me and we both mouth, "I'm sorry."

He walks up and kisses me. "We'll bring the kids with us," he whispers.

"Josh..."

"It'll be fine."

"I don't think they're allowed..."

"They can hang out in the makeshift office and play."

"These children don't exactly play quietly."

"You think the office is going to be any quieter than the bullpen?"

"Let me think about it," I tell him. "But I know the twinkle in my eye more than gives my answer.

"Do you want to come sleep in with Aunt Donna and Uncle Josh?" he asks Madison quietly. She nods.

Josh follows me back into our room. Madison and Max crawl into our bed and curl up in the middle. Josh and I lie on either side of the children and he grasps my hand from across the toddlers.

Many moments later, after the children drift off to sleep, Josh shakes my hand to get my attention.

"Donna, I want this with you. We'll figure everything out, but I just... I want to meet little Moss-Lyman babies. I want to raise children with you. God, Donna, we'd be so good at it. I don't ... expect you to be anything other than the gorgeous, witty, brilliant woman you are. If you don't want kids, it should be because you just don't want them, not because you're worried about working or whatever. I just ... want to have babies with you."

"Josh, I..." I stammer, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Don't say anything yet. Just ... think about it. It's not a deal breaker or anything... Just think about it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Good night."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

I curl up beside Madison, not letting Josh's hand go.

---

Max wears a clip-on tie to the convention.

Josh wears a suit. He carries his cell phone and Madison.

Everyone fawns over the children and no one questions their presence. In the sea of chaos, my niece and nephew remain relatively quiet. I'm able to work at Josh's makeshift desk, making calls to delegates and congressmen while Max colors under the desk.

And as I sit there, our life continuing, uninterrupted by the kids, I wonder if Josh was right.

Could we do our jobs and have children, too?

It's not like it's never been done before, and Josh and I have met with crazier circumstances.

All of a sudden, I see children playing under Josh's desk, like the photo of John F. Kennedy, Junior playing in the Oval Office.

Hey, if John and Jackie can do it, so can Josh and Donna.

I see me rocking a baby in one arm, taking notes with the other. I see Josh taking meetings with senators while he bounces a baby on his knee.

He comes up behind me, Madison in tow, and for a moment I am still lost in my little fantasy.

"How's it going?" he asks, kissing my cheek.

"It's going okay," I tell him. "Ready to switch?"

"It's okay. Max seems to be having fun, and Maddie is learning all about superdelegates, aren't you?"

"Yes, Uncle Josh," the little girl says absent-mindedly.

I smile at him. "This is working."

He beams back. "Yeah. Go figure."

---

That night, we watch the convention from the TV at Josh's desk in his office-for-a-week, taking turns going out to watch from the wings. Josh is crumply, the children are tired, I am decidedly frazzled.

I've sunk into Josh's chair, little Max curled up in my lap. Madison leans against Josh, Josh leans against the desk.

I love Josh in the way that makes me realized that I've never really been in love before. And the thought of having children with him – with this man who I so desperately love – isn't nearly as scary as the thought of babies with any one of my exes – even when I was nineteen and thought my life's mission was to be a mommy.

Josh won't let me become a soccer mom. Ever.

I always imagined that in having children, I would become one of those Mommy-clones. It's only now that I realize how much I want little Josh-and-Donna clones.

We can do both. We can be Josh Lyman and his trusty assistant Donna Moss AND be Mommy and Daddy.

It wasn't until Maddie and Max came that I realize that it can be done.

Plus, I really want to meet our children.

---

Friday night, Anna and Matt come to pick the kids up. And as soon as Josh buzzes them in, the children all but forget about me and Josh. They launch themselves at their parents and I slink back into the kitchen to collect their stuff.

Lots and lots of _stuff_.

Anna hugs the children and kisses their cheeks. I turn away.

God, Donna, jealousy isn't becoming.

I wonder what our lives will be like tomorrow, when they're gone.

Josh carries the playpen and toy bag out into the living room, and Matt takes the items from Josh's hands. Anna scurries about, much as I have learned to in the past six days, picking up this and that.

"Don't forget Max's blankie," I tell her, fishing it out from between the couch cushions. It is the last act I will perform in Mommy-mode.

Matt balances the playpen and the bag of stuff. Anna carries Max and Maddie.

"So what did you all do this week?" Anna asks the children.

Suddenly, they are shy. "Nothin'," Maddie says.

"Tell your mom and dad about going to Uncle Josh's office," I instruct.

"You took them to the White House?" Matt asks.

Ever thinking of the most important thing, Anna asks, "_Uncle_ Josh?"

"We took them to the convention," Josh says plainly.

"Yeah, Anna, you're raising two little superdelegates right there," I add.

"Super-what?" Anna asks.

I shake it off. "Nothing."

Josh notices my anxiety and comes up to stand behind me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"Ready to go home?" Matt asks the children. They answer excitedly and hurry out the door without a second glance at Josh or me.

"Donna, I owe you," Anna says, hanging back.

"Yes, you do."

"See you at the wedding?"

"I'll be the one in the white dress."

"Thanks again," she says, following her family out the door.

The door shuts behind my sister and all is quiet.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, when I haven't moved long after the Browns have left.

"I'm thinking about superdelegates."

We are quiet for several moments.

"What are you _really_ thinking about?"

"How Maddie and Max didn't even say goodbye."

"Well, they're little. Their parents just came back after almost a week ... And those children have the attention spans of ADD chihuahuas."

"It's quiet."

"Yes."

"It's clean."

"Donna..."

"I want to have babies with you."

"Ah."

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad."

"You're surprised."

"No, not really."

"What?"

He shrugs and stammers. "The ... the way you looked at those kids, the way you looked at me when I was with them ... Like you were praying that they would just ... changed into our children. It wasn't too hard to tell that you were thinking about babies. And, you know, what woman in their right mind wouldn't want to procreate with _this_?" he states, gesturing to himself.

"I guess ... I guess I've always ... thought about children, but I imagined that our ... our perfectly planned life would fall apart."

"Perfectly planned? It's only perfectly planned because _you_ planned it. I won't have our life _fall apart_ because we decide to have a baby."

"For the last ... seven years..."

"I've been in love with you. And there is nothing you can do to make me _not_ love you. Our life could only get _better_ by having a baby."

When he says stuff like that, it makes it impossible for me to be angry with him. Or to deny him anything.

"You've been in love with me for seven years?"

"Since the end of the first day. You put your tiny suitcase in the campaign bus, told me that it had been a very good day, then sat down and didn't say another word all the way to Charleston. I thought you were the strangest, most beautiful person I had ever seen, and something strange inside of me told me that you were the one. Seven years later ... look at us."

I sink down into the leather chair, absentmindedly sweeping away the toys I so expect to be there, wondering what I did to deserve this man.

"So you think we can do it?" I ask.

"I _know_ we can."

"How?"

He thinks for a moment and then shrugs. "Same way I knew that you were the one when you started working for the campaign."

He stoops beside the chair and rests his chin on my arm. "I would marry you tomorrow."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"And, Josh, it's still 169 days until the wedding."

"I know."

"Maybe we can talk about babies after."

"Like, in 170 days?"

"Okay."

He lovingly pulls me out of the chair and onto the floor beside him. I lean my head on his shoulder and smile.

I love this man.

After several moments, he turns to me. "Just so you know, our kids will be taught from a very early age who Abraham Lincoln is."

I laugh. He gets it.

And we're okay. No matter what we get – babies or no babies – we'll get through it.

"And superdelegates," I counter.


End file.
